The Wills of Sociopaths
by gothchic6
Summary: Krista Verona, a 17 year old convicted murderess, escapes from prison, trying to escape to a new life in England. She is everything society fears: A sociopath, an atheist, and a sadist. When her plane crashes onto an island, she finds someone just like her. But who will win in the battle of wills? Only time can tell. Rated M for several mature themes. Roger/OC
1. I'm On My Way

**Hello, you are on Chapter One of the fanfiction, The Wills of Sociopaths. I'm just warning you, this fanfiction is rated M for a reason, as it contains many mature themes, including violence, language, and bashing of several topics. If this offends you, don't read. I didn't hold back on anything with this story or character, so you have been warned.**

**And for the people who understand the statement above, and still want to read this:**

**Hi.**

**It's been my dream to make a Lord of the Flies fanfiction, and so now I'm starting one. The main plot of this fanfiction goes along with the book, except that it is placed in 2015, and will thus have references to the pop culture of this time. Also, most of the older boys' ages go from 12 and 13 to 16 and 17. The littluns' ages (from 6-9) will stay the same.**

**Also, the pairing for this is eventual Roger/oc, though it will also feature one sided Jack/oc. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: gothchic6 does not own Lord of the Flies.**

* * *

Chapter One: I'm On The Way:

"Alwin Prison For Women of Atlanta, Georgia is under high alert, as one of their most dangerous inmates has just escaped. The police report that prison guards went to inspect the cell of the inmate, Krista Verona, and were shocked to find it empty this morning at eight am. Police are still trying to figure how Verona escaped the prison.

Verona, age seventeen, was convicted of murdering her 52 year-old foster mother, Jean Hall in June of 2014, and was sentenced to life in prison, without parole. Besides the murder charge, Verona is reported to have an extensive criminal record, including charges of grand larceny, two counts of assault, and two counts of possession of a concealed weapon.

Because the police departments are unable to find a picture of Verona for broadcast purposes for some reason, the following is her description:

Verona was last seen wearing a bright orange prison uniform. She is approximately 5 feet and 9 inches tall, and weighs 130 pounds. Her skin is olive-toned, with blue undertones. She has long, dark brown hair that reaches to her waist when down, and her eyes are a stormy grey. She is hourglass shaped.

Police believe that Verona is hiding within the Atlanta city limit, though it is possible that she has gone outside of it. Police warn anyone who sees or encounters Verona to not confront her! Verona is considered a heavily dangerous inmate who is not afraid to use violence, as she deems necessary. She is known to be somewhat of a psychopath. Police also warn the public to lock their doors and windows, as Verona is known for breaking into houses. I am Serena Martinez, reporting from Atlanta, Georgia. Back to you, Jim."

"It's a sociopath, not psychopath," I hiss to the television screen. Those idiotic news journalists, reporting my mental state incorrectly. I know perfectly well what I am doing, and whether my actions may or may not be considered morally unethical. I've always known that. People that know me, or claim to know me, say that I have no soul. They are wrong. I have no conscience, not soul. But everything is religion with them. I've been to dozens of psychologists, psychiatrists, behavior experts, etcetera; you name a type of mental health expert, and I've been there. And there isn't one that hasn't said shit about "God" and religion, and all other kinds of spiritual shit. But when you're in a Bible Belt state of America, what else can you really expect?

There are the ones that say that I'm going to hell, and that "God" is going to strike me down. Well, I started committing crimes when I was seven, so I've spent a decade doing it. I think if "God" were to strike me down, he would of already done it by now, just to spare the lives of other people.

Then there are those who say stuff like that "God" is disappointed in me, that "God" never meant for me to be like this, and that "God" loves me no matter what. The last one is an interesting thought, but high unlikely, seeing as there is no "God", and I'm pretty sure that there isn't someone capable of loving me.

Hey, "God" didn't exactly put me in the best environment, to defend myself. I was born in the slums of Atlanta, Georgia, on November 20, 1997. I never knew my parents, as they were reportedly teenagers when they had me. Actually, it was my mother who had me; my father, the little pussy that he was, abandoned my mother ten weeks into her pregnancy. So, when I discovered the man who was biologically my father living the high life, two years ago, I made sure he met his end.

From what I've heard the social workers talk about my past, my mother apparently died giving birth to me. Humph, it fits; I can't seem to get close to people without hurting or killing them. The smart ones flee before I make the killing bite.

Someone found me in a dark alley, where my mother had chosen to give birth for some unknown reason. I was swiftly cannonballed into the foster care system, where I was shot between homes until I was arrested and incarcerated last year for murder. I never liked any of my foster parents, all of them overly strict, thinking that intense rules and regulations would be enough to stomp out the sociopath in me. They were all wrong, and they shipped me away as soon as they found out. I can't say I blame them. But the last one: the one whose murder landed me with life in prison without parole…

She refused to send me away. She was insistent that I follow her rules, insistent that her teachings would reform my attitude, insistent that I would change. She tried to bend me to her will, but my will was stronger. So, yes, I strangled her with her own hosiery, and left her for dead. They say I am the girl with no soul. What else would you expect?

There is a manhunt out for me in Atlanta, but what those morons don't know is that I've already made it into Florida. Truck drivers never get to listen to the news, so they are the perfect people to hitchhike off of. That's besides the fact that I've made a few changes to my appearance; I cut my waist long hair to my shoulders, dyed it jet-black, and bought green contact lenses. That way, I still kind of look like myself, but with a few differences.

I'm on my way to the airport in Gulf Breeze, Florida. I plan on going to England, and escaping this shit hole of a country. I'm using the last of my life savings, around $500, to buy this plane ticket.

* * *

I'm at the airport, where the television screens spit out my name and description about once every five minutes. I must admit, I'm flattered that they think I'm so dangerous. I don't try to be. It's just me.

I walk through the airport, a new navy blue backpack on my shoulders, along with some new clothes. They say orange is the new black, but I think orange looks horrible on everyone. So, I've changed the prison uniform out for black "booty" shorts, a medium blue tank top, black sun visor, and white and blue tennis shoes.

I am not recognized as I use my fake ID and passport to buy my ticket. I get completely through bag checks before I see someone looking at me strangely.

It is a man, in his twenties, who is just staring at me with unrelentless shock. I send him a confused look, but I know I must take care of him later.

To my delight, I realize that we are on the same plane. As we are boarding, I send him a small little smile that promises the world's evil upon him. He swallows nervously.

Ha! Even better. We sit right next to each other, in the last two seats of the plane. He eyes me, obviously realizing who I am, but not wanting to anger me. I ignore him for the entire flight.

Ten hours later, and everyone is angsty to get off of the plane, including my incredibly nervous friend next to me. We land In London, and as the passengers are exiting out of the plane, I grab my friend's wrist to prevent him from going anywhere. The last few passengers leave the plane. I tell the plane staff that I'm trying to help my friend search for something he lost on the way here, so they leave the plane. My friend, the pussy, only nods in agreement.

As soon as we are alone, I grab my friend, and pull him face to face with me, so he knows I mean business. I pull out my pocketknife. His face instantly whitens.

"Yeah, you know who I am, don't you, you little pussy?" I hiss harshly to him.

He nods, scared that I'm stab him if he makes any wrong moves. Smart guy.

I pull up the sleeve of his wool sweater, and while gagging him with the same hosiery I killed my foster-mother with (the police never found it), I slice my initials into his arm.

K.V.

He nearly screams, but I hold the scream in with the pantyhose. Tears are falling down his face, as he's struggling not to shake in fear. Pathetic.

I take the hosiery out of his mouth, whilst whispering, "Make any noise, and you die." I then use the extremely filthy hosiery to wipe the blood off of the wound. He grimaces in pain.

I hear the sound of footsteps of the plane staff becoming impatient outside. I hastily cover his arm back up with the (ironically) crimson red sleeve of his sweater. I then tell him in a low growl, "If you tell anyone anything that happened on this plane, or anything about me, I'll blow your fucking head off. I will hunt you down, and kill you. Got it?"

He nods pathetically, frantically trying to wipe away his tears. "I'm staying here. If the staff asks you anything about me, tell them that I already got off because I had to be at my hotel at a certain time. And if they say that they didn't see me, tell them that I have a very common look and that they probably overlooked me. Got that?"

He nods pathetically again. I let go of his wrist.

"Now go back home to your mother, you pussy, and tell her that you met a great woman on the plane. Because the revenge I'm committing against the world will be great and terrible. Because I am great and terrible."

He wastes no time in practically running away from me in fear, still shaking. He leaves the plane.

Now I have to find a place to hide. I decide to conceal myself in the luggage racks. I know, a cliché spot in an airplane, but I've noticed how lazy these stewardesses are; I doubt they'll check the racks before another flight comes along.

After waiting in the racks for around an hour, I hear voices, more specifically male voices of varying ages, enter the plane and take their seats. I crouch so that I can hide in the back of the rack, where there's a chance the males won't see me. However, the luggage rack opens, and to my surprise, I see myself making eye contacts with the most demonic pair of eyes I've seen other than my own. I guess the person who the eyes belong to respects my decision to remain hidden, because he gives me one final glare before stuffing his black suitcase into my ribs, and slamming the door.

"The flight from London to California is scheduled to leave in five minutes." I hear the pilot say over the intercom.

But, the thing is, this plane will never reach California…

* * *

**I introduce my newest main character, Krista! She is probably the most evil, most sociopathic, and sadistic character I've ever written, and for some reason, it is very easy to write about her.**

**Many people pair Roger up with girls who get so scared, and so freaked so easily, so I wanted to do something different. I wanted Roger to be able to connect to someone. And for them to battle wills for a bit, before I put the romance in.**

**Please review, any feedback is appreciated… except for people whose criticism isn't constructive, and who just want to be jerks.**

**Anyway, please review!**

**gothchic6**


	2. The Crash On The Island

**Hey guys! It's gothchic6 here with a new update for The Wills of Sociopaths! Woohoo! Sorry it's been a while. I graduated high school recently, which has made me really busy lately.**

**Thank you to R, LilPeaceMaker, and Chickenlittle1234 for reviewing! I really didn't expect that many reviews for just that opening chapter, so thanks again! People seem to be liking the strength of Krista's character. That makes me happy. :)**

**Disclaimer: gothchic6 doesn't own Lord of the Flies. End of Story.**

* * *

Chapter Two: The Crash On The Island

While I wait in the luggage rack, I can't help but reimagine the demonic grey eyes of the boy sitting directly below me. Those eyes, they are so similar to mine. A deep hatred for humanity rests within them as they do in mine, and they are even the same color! I growl at the thought of competition, and my mind immediately jumps to thinking of various ways to dispose of the boy. But something within the deep bowels of my soul (Yes, despite rumors, I do have a soul) prevents me from actually acting on my mind's wishes. I frown at my own weakness, promising to examine what exactly is preventing me from acting upon my deadly instincts, only freeze my thoughts when I hear a chilling voice coming from—you guessed it—right below me.

"If you touch me one more time, I'll shove this pencil so far up your ass that the doctor who removes it will be crowned the new King Arthur."

I immediately realize that the voice belongs to the boy who looked at me earlier. Though the voice is menacing and full of ill intent, I can't help but giggle at his choice of threats. I hastily cover my mouth, but I can tell by the sudden lack of conversation that my giggle was clearly heard.

"What in the bloody hell was that?" A voice very different from the first says in astonishment. The boy who said it sounds a lot beefier than the first, the arrogance and stolen authority oozing in his tone. It makes me feel sick. Whoever this boy is, if he is going anywhere near where I am, he better watch his tongue, or I'll cut it out.

"It sounded like it came from a girl… but there are no girls on the plane!" This third voice belongs to a boy younger, meeker—"Pathetic," I whisper, ending in a hiss.

I know I have been heard when I hear a loud thump, a squeaky utterance of, "What was that?!", followed by the deep, gruff laughter of the older boys.

"Sounded like a demon to me." The boy directly below me says. A pleasant chill runs down my spine, and straight to between my legs. Fuck! What the hell? I've never let myself become horny before! I repress the urge to growl. There's something about this boy that makes my body and soul go haywire. And I'm not sure if I like it or not.

The younger boy squeaks again. This causes the older boys to laugh louder, until a new voice causes them to silence,

"Shut up, Roger! Can't you see that Simon is about to piss himself? Stop being a creep!" The new voice implies authority, not unlike the beefy boy, but the authority in his voice sounds natural instead of forcibly taken. I can only guess that the new boy has some sort of control other the others because the laughter instantly ceases. The new boy pauses for a second or two before going onto say,

"I don't know if you've noticed, but the stewardesses are in a very irritated mood. If one of you decides that making Simon piss himself and on the floor is a good idea, the stewardesses are probably going to go mad. And I wouldn't want to make them angry if I were you."

A few seconds pass before the beefy boy lets out a large bellow. The rest of the older boys follow his lead, and laugh along with him. The new boy sighs exaggeratedly, and perhaps knowing that there is no use in scolding the other boys, I hear him walk away from the scene.

The other boys' laughter soon dies down. I hear boy under me, apparently named Roger, stand up, and say to the weak, younger boy,

"I'll check the luggage rack if you're so scared."

These words cause me to still. Sure enough, I hear Roger stand up, and my now green eyes widen with surprise as the door opens. Our eyes meet once again. I take the opportunity to send him my deadliest glare, but his eyes do not waver, and he stares back with an equal intensity. We stare at each other for around ten seconds before he suddenly breaks the eye contact, and sends me an approving smile. Then, he closes the luggage rack, enveloping me in darkness once again.

"There's nothing there." He states smoothly.

I bristle at the smile of approval that was sent my way. I don't need his approval! Who the fuck does he think he is? Another jolt of energy is shot down my spine at the thought of Roger's expression, and to my dismay, ends up between my legs again. Who is this Roger, and why does he have this strange power over me? I snarl. Simon lets out another squeak.

"Shut the fuck up, Simon," is the last thing thing I hear before the plane suddenly lurches backward, and the back of my head hits the hard plastic of the luggage compartment. My vision swiftly turns to black.

* * *

*Roger's POV*

The loud siren and red flashing lights tell me at once that the plane is crashing. Most people lose balance as the plane first lurches backward, before leaning steadily forward. What the fuck is wrong with the pilot?

Prissy boy blonde Ralph, Jack Merridew, and I are the only ones who don't immediately start freaking out. Jack successfully manages to get the rest of the choir boys under control. Ralph is trying to get the younger boys to calm down, and he mostly successful, except for one little kid who has lost his head completely, and is running down the aisle, screaming,

"WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"

His screaming is quickly giving me a migraine. I snarl at the stupid fucking brat, which usually stops everyone in their tracks. However, he is too riled to be affected by it. So, to save my eardrums, as the kid comes running down by Jack and I again, I trip the little shit. He falls face first on the floor, and starts sobbing. I snarl again.

"Roger, what the hell?!" Ralph yells at me. I shift my glare onto him, making his stern gaze falter a bit. I smirk.

"What? I got him to stop going crazy, and I saved your eardrums. You're welcome."

Ralph tuts under his breath, but doesn't mention the matter again. Smart kid.

Suddenly, the plane lurches forward again, sharply this time. None of us are given any warning as we all fall to the floor. To everyone's panic, one of the luggage racks suddenly decides to break, sending several very heavy suitcases raining down on us. My vision goes black as an agonizing pain and a large amount of pressure is inflicted upon my back.

* * *

*Krista's POV*

"Do you think she's alive?"

"Where did she even come from?"

"How did she get on the plane in the first place?"

The last comment causes me to emerge out of unconsciousness. My body springs up, aiming to grab the throat of the person closest to me, but I miss due to my eyes still being closed. I hear several squeals of terror at the attempted grab, which finally prompts me to open my eyes. Several pairs of terrified eyes stare back at me. They all belonging to younger boys, the oldest not even reaching ten years old. They all just continue to stare at me. I mean, I know I'm hot, but come on! This is getting kinda creepy!

After a minute or two, I let my eyes fall into thin slits, and a deep growl erupts from my throat. All of the boys get scared and run off, except for one. He seems to be the youngest of the group, perhaps only seven, and yet, he doesn't exert the fear that caused his peers to flee. His curious amber eyes scan over me again, before he cautiously decides to venture closer. Despite my death glare being focused on him for the entire time, he seems to think it safe to kneel beside my weak form on the ground.

Yes, I will admit that in this moment, I am weak. My muscles ache, my head is spinning, and I think my feet and legs are neuropathic. I am even questioning how the hell I even managed to propel myself up in order to try and grab their throats. Either way, that strength has left me now.

I groan inwardly as the boy edges closer to me, until his knee is touching my elbow. His gaze doesn't falter the entire time, and it seems to be expectant of something. I don't know what the fuck this little kid wants from me. What is he expecting, me to play a game with him? The idea is laughable.

I feel a minute pass by, and when the kid doesn't say anything, I regain my voice,

"What the fuck are you staring at, kid?" The tone of my voice is even more gravelly than usual. If I were in the appropriate attire, I could pass for a male easily.

Even my tone doesn't frighten off the kid. I can see his pupils dilate slightly, to my surprise. Then, even more shockingly, the kid grins, and by how many teeth the kid is missing, I realize my guess about his age is correct.

"My name is Percival, but my friends call me Percy. What's your name?"

My eyebrows rise at Percival's sheer obliviousness or audacity, but I have to give the kid props. I think he is the only kid that has even been brave enough to sit by me for more than a minute without shitting his pants or running away.

"What business is it of yours, kid?"

Percival shrugs. "I guess you just look like a person who would have a cool name. Maybe I'm wrong."

I glare at his attempt to use reverse psychology on me, before struggling to push myself up to a sitting position. My eyes widen considerably when I feel Percival's hands on one of mine, helping to pull me up. He pulls me into the position, and smiles at me again. To my astonishment, I feel myself blush for the first time in my life, and I feel like dying afterward. What the fuck is happening to me? Am I… AM I GOING SOFT?!

I growl again and go for Percival's throat, but he's too fast for me. He instantly stands up, and steps a few feet away from me.

"Do you enjoy trying to be scary, Mystery Lady?"

"Trying to be scary," I snarl aggressively at Percival, "Most of my victims shit their pants or are dead by the time I'm done with them. What makes you so different?"

Percival—I'm not even kidding you—fucking laughs at me. A childish laugh full of mirth. If my legs were working, he'd be dead.

"You're like Roger. You like to scare people and make them cry. It makes you feel good. My mommy told me about people like that. She called them sadists."

I straighten up at the name Roger. The sinister boy with the demonic eyes.

"Is Roger a sadist, Percival?"

Percival looks down at the ground, before glancing back up at me. "Yeah. During our choir class and practices, Jack likes to send the younger kids in the back room with Roger because Roger has the best rhythm of all the choir boys. Jack wants Roger to train us to use our voices better, he always tells us. But Roger doesn't teach us very good. The words he uses to explain are hard for the younger kids to understand. And when we make a mistake, Roger hits our knuckles with one of those rulers that you see nuns use in old movies. He smiles when he hits us."

"Percival! You little shit, where are you?!" A familiar beefy voice echoes, causing the trees around us to shake a bit. That's when I finally take in my surroundings.

I realize that I am somewhere tropical, even more tropical than Florida. The sun would be beating down on me if I weren't lying in the middle of a jungle clearing. The various trees do provide some shade, thankfully. I am sitting on the leafy jungle floor, various plants and vines layering the floor to make it moderately comfortable to sit upon. Where the fuck am I?

The leaves nearby start to move as two large figures start to materialize from beyond the horizon. As they get closer, I realize that one of them is Roger—I can tell by the eyes. The other boy is around my age, is rather large in stature, and has a head of bright red hair. This must be beef boy.

The older boys' eyes spot Percival, causing them to walk faster in order to reach the younger boy. Only beef boy's blue eyes widen when they spot me.

"Wow, Percy, I thought you were complete useless. I guess not, since you found this wonderful specimen. What do they call you, gorgeous?" Beef boy tries to charm me.

I raise one eyebrow at his attempt of hitting on me. "Sorry beef boy, but you've got too much meat in your brain for this vegetarian."

Beef boy's flirty smirk instantly disappears. I see his cheeks and ears quickly turn to a flaming red, similar to his hair. An irritated and embarrassed frown replaces the smirk.

"If I were you, I'd watch what you say. I'm not afraid to punish you just because you're the only girl on the island."

I let out a small girlish giggle. The two boys seem baffled at my reaction. Good.

I pull out my pocketknife—still slightly dirty with the blood of my friend on the plane—flick it open, and impale it into the bare foot of beef boy. He, of course, squeals and screams like a five year old girl as I continue to push the blade further into his foot. It is only when powerful hands take ahold of my shoulders, and pull me away from beef boy that I remember that Roger is also present. As Roger pulls me away from beef boy's foot, my grip on my knife doesn't break, and even more blood starts spurting out as the knife is pulled from his foot.

"You're fucking crazy! Insane!" Beef boy starts screaming.

By now, I notice that Percival has taken the opportunity to flee the scene. Beef boy has fallen to ground, taken off his shirt, and is using his shirt to stop the bleeding. I pout as my handiwork is slowly being erased.

I know that there's no pointing in attempting to loosen Roger's iron grip on me. He has me in a headlock on the ground, and with my legs being neuropathic, there's no way I'd be able to overpower him at the moment.

Beef boy has managed to control the bleeding, to my disappointment. He ties his shirt around his foot.

"Roger, are you able to restrain the nutcase?"

Roger nods, as I lay still, similar to a corpse. Roger takes the opportunity to tie my wrists and ankles together with some nearby vines.

"Come on, let's carry her to camp. Let's see what Chief Prissy Blonde Ralph does with her."

And with that, Roger throws me into his arms, bridal style. Then, the two start carrying me to wherever.

* * *

**Yay! Second chapter written!**

**Please review, more reviews means I'm more likely to update sooner, and I love the feedback!**

**gothchic6**


End file.
